


debriefing

by ictus



Category: DCU (Comics), Midnighter and Apollo (Comics)
Genre: Chocolate Box Treat, M/M, Post-Mission, Shower Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-15
Updated: 2019-02-15
Packaged: 2019-10-25 00:45:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,767
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17714834
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ictus/pseuds/ictus
Summary: Usually M’s wired after missions, his mind going a mile a minute as he replays every possible outcome of each and every fight. But tonight, all the fight's gone out of him.





	debriefing

**Author's Note:**

  * For [FrozenPanther](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FrozenPanther/gifts).



> Written for FrozenPanther for the Chocolate Box Exchange. Your prompts were right up my alley and exactly everything I love about this pairing, I hope you enjoy this!

“ _Door._ ”

Orange light floods the warehouse, casts an unearthly glow on the bodies that litter the floor. Apollo all but pushes M through the portal and quickly follows, throwing one last glance at the carnage behind him. He barely has a moment to catch his breath before their apartment is materialising around them, leaving him linking blearily in the dim light.

“That,” says M, removing his mask, “was a shitshow from start to finish. ‘Minimal security’ my ass.”

Apollo’s lips curve into a smirk. “Didn’t have you pegged for one to shy away from a challenge.”

“Oh there was nothing shy about the way I dealt with _that_ challenge.”

Apollo laughs, glad to finally be home. The mission had been a difficult one, and it shows: M is bruised and covered in blood, swaying slightly where he stands and grimacing with every movement. Apollo’s not faring much better; his suit singed and hanging in tatters around his waist, his hair matted with blood and god knows what else.

He draws M in and presses a quick kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Shower?”

It’s a testament to how much the mission has taken out of him that M merely nods and follows him. Usually M’s wired after missions, his mind going a mile a minute as he replays every possible outcome of each and every fight. More often than not, they spend long hours sparring in the gym until M’s computer brain quiets down to a dull hum and he’s finally exhausted enough to fall asleep.

But tonight, all the fight’s gone out of him. He lets Apollo take the reins and allows himself to be manoeuvred towards the bathroom, closing his eyes against the bright light and leaving himself vulnerable in a way that only Apollo ever gets to see. His costume is sticky with blood as Apollo undresses him, a stark reminder that this is the same man who tore half a dozen assassins to shreds not two hours prior.

“I feel like I’ve said this before but—”

“The costume could be less complicated?” M says, not even opening his eyes.

Apollo smiles to himself as he undoes the fastenings of M’s thigh holsters. “So it’s more a case of my complaints falling on deaf ears?”

M huffs out a breath. “Us mortals need more than just a little spandex to protect our asses.”

“Funny, I thought you’ve always appreciated just how little spandex covered my ass,” he murmurs as he tugs M’s undershirt over his head. Apollo sucks a breath in through his teeth at the sight of M’s chest, mottled blue and purple. The bruises span his shoulders and cover most of his arms, stark in the bright light of their bathroom. Even though he knows M will be healed by tomorrow, Apollo can’t help but wince in sympathy.

“It’s not as bad as it looks,” M says, raising a hand to cup Apollo’s jaw. Apollo allows himself to be drawn into the kiss, keeping his touch gentle, tentative.

“Actually I was thinking of our dry-cleaning bill,” he says dryly. M’s puff of laughter is hot against his lips, gives him all the incentive to tug open his belt and help him shuck his pants. Now that Apollo’s started touching M he can’t seem to stop, running his hands down his sides and over his hips, careful of the bruises from the fight and leaving new ones along the line of his throat.

M groans, even as he pushes into Apollo’s roaming hands. “Shower?”

“Shower,” he agrees, pressing one last kiss to the underside of M’s jaw. He tears himself away and starts running the water, then quickly strips what’s left of his own uniform. M’s already under the spray by the time he’s done, rinsing the worst of the blood and grime off his skin. Apollo’s hands find his waist as if on instinct, drawing him close and feeling M melt against him as the hot water eases the tension out of his muscles. He leaves a trail of kisses down the back of M’s neck as the water swirling down the drain runs from red to pink, his movements languid and unhurried.

The water’s running clear by the time Apollo lathers up a wash cloth and starts scrubbing them down, M groaning as Apollo works his aching muscles, careful of his injuries.

“Should get beat up more often if this where it gets me.”

“You mean you didn’t do it on purpose?” he asks, nipping at M’s jaw.

The elbow to his stomach isn’t entirely undeserved, but it still manages to shock a laugh out of him. M swallows it up as he half-turns to kiss him, steadying him with a hand on jaw. Apollo runs his hands down his body and is unsurprised to find M is hard and arching into his touch. He wraps a hand around him and squeezes gently, feeling M sigh against him.

“Yes?” he murmurs against M’s lips.

“ _God_ yes.”

Apollo can only smile as he retrieves the wash cloth, scrubbing over M’s back and then lower. M curses at the first press of Apollo’s fingers to his hole, arching back into his touch and desperate for more. By the time Apollo sinks to his knees, M’s braced himself against the shower wall, his head resting on his folded arms and his legs spread wide.  

But Apollo’s in no rush. He runs his hands up M’s calves and thighs, feeling the muscles jump at his touch. He follows the path with his mouth, biting gently at the tender skin of M’s inner thighs and relishing the way he shudders as he sucks bruises into the sensitive skin. M’s muttering something—curses or praises or both—but it’s lost to the sound of the spray and the pounding of Apollo’s heart in his ears.

M’s canting his hips back when Apollo finally spreads him open and licks over hole, groans full-throated as Apollo works him open with his tongue. M is insatiable, pushing back into Apollo’s every touch, desperate for more. Apollo loves seeing M like this, loves seeing him completely uninhibited, stripped down to his base instincts—his entire world reduced to Apollo and the desire that pools between them. Apollo himself is aching between his legs, moans outright when he finally gets a hand around himself. But he doesn’t relent; he keeps M spread with one hand while he works himself with the other, his pace agonisingly slow even as M swears and begs for more.

“I swear to god if you don’t—”

Apollo cuts him off with a bite to the curve of his ass. The sound it elicits is completely debauched, makes his dick twitch in his hand. “Sorry what was that?” He doesn’t allow a single second for a reply, just redoubles his efforts, M’s answering groan reverberating around the shower stall.

M’s thighs are trembling by the time Apollo finally draws back, barely able to support his own weight and leaning heavily against the shower wall. Apollo rises to his feet, dizzy with arousal, and draws M’s body flush against his, his nerves set alight by every point where their bodies touch. M captures his wrist and Apollo thinks he’s about to guide it back between his legs, but he's surprised to find M pushing something into his hand.  

“Yes?” he asks, pressing a kiss to M's throat.

M groans. “Please don’t make me tell you twice.”

They keep a bottle of bath oil in the shower more or less for this purpose, and M is already widening his stance again in invitation. M grinds back against him as Apollo gets an oil-slick hand between his legs, spreading it in the cleft of his ass and between his thighs. His hand’s still slick when he takes M in hand, starts bringing him off with slow, steady strokes as he presses his own dick between M’s legs. Apollo wants to draw this out, wants to make it last—but the first press of M’s thighs around his cock is nothing short of heaven, has him grinding desperately against M and frantically seeking his own release. M’s moans only spur him on, and soon he finds himself jacking M in time with his own quickened pace, both of them teetering on the edge, their movements gone clumsy with desire.

M shouts when he comes, his whole body going taut. Apollo strokes him through it, not relenting until M sags boneless against him, a weak moan escaping his lips as the last of his energy drains out of him. Apollo holds him close with one arm braced across his chest and the other at his hips, keeping his thighs pressed together and dragging his body against his own with every thrust. The slick press of M’s thighs sparks a pleasure that radiates out from his core, warming him from the inside out and building on itself. When he comes it’s with M’s name on his lips, his hips stuttering as he rides out his orgasm. The pleasure washes over him and leaves him breathless, and for several endless seconds he’s aware of little else except for the feeling of M pressed against him, solid and reassuring. 

It takes him some time to realise the water’s run cold.

“C’mon,” he says, pushing at M’s shoulder. M makes a non-committal noise, is more intent on trying to kiss Apollo than escaping the chill of the water. Apollo laughs against his lips and gives into the kiss, effectively distracting him for the time it takes to get them both cleaned off. M is completely dazed, his post-orgasm haze compounding the fatigue from the mission. It’s not until Apollo’s towelling off his hair that he speaks again in a murmur so soft Apollo almost doesn’t catch it.

“Where would I be without you?”

Apollo pauses, pretending to contemplate. “Face-down in a pool of your own blood?”

M huffs out a laugh against Apollo’s lips, pushing at him weakly. “Hey now, I’m tougher than I look.”

Apollo takes a step back, making a show of looking him over. Already, the deep purple bruises are fading to green and yellow, his abrasions all but healed. Even now, wrung-out and exhausted, there’s a fire in his eyes. Apollo thinks of M taking out dozens of men with nothing more than his wits and his bare hands, thinks of the ferocious determination that he brings to every challenge they face together.  

“I’d say you look pretty tough to me,” he says, and lets M kiss the grin off his lips.

**Author's Note:**

> You can also find me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/scansionictus).


End file.
